


Five Times Carrow Healed Perf...

by Merkwerkee



Category: JourneyQuest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: ..and One Time Perf (failed to) Return the Favor





	1. Chapter 1

Carrow was - somewhat unusually - running behind as he returned from his weekly market run. His usual supplier of inks and parchments and been detained on suspicion by the Wicked Kings and it had taken him longer than he would have liked to find supplies of a similar caliber. Now, with a week’s worth of parchment and a few new quills tucked beneath one arm, he was headed back to the temple at a brisk walk. It would be cutting it a bit fine, but he’d make it back before vespers - the curfew for initiates who took leave to go into the city.

A small noise interrupted his thoughts; a soft, half-stifled sobbing nearly lost in the aggregate street noise around him. Carrow stopped and looked around, the traffic in the street parting and going around him, flowing seamlessly around this new obstruction. Finally his eyes landed on a small boy, no more than seven years old, in a white robe sitting beside a general goods stall and holding his nose. Red still flowed from between his fingers and was smeared down his front, red standing starkly against the white, and his sniffles had a bubbly edge to them Carrow didn’t like. He looked up the street towards the temple, then back at the boy and sighed. Viaeris commanded them to spread his light to those in need, and to ease the suffering of others when they could - Carrow could not, in good conscience, leave the boy to his pains.

He sighed again and trotted over to the boy. “Hey. Hey. What happened?” With gentle hands he prised the boy’s apart and got a good look at his nose - swollen to nearly twice its size and dripping blood.

“I wad walkig an’ I tribbed an’ th’ bogs hid me.” Carrow blinked, parsing the statement before turning to look at the indicated crate. Sure enough, the corner nearest them gleamed with fresh blood. Carrow turned back to the boy and smiled reassuringly.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m a cleric, I’ll have you fixed up in no time. Viaeris’ light shines for all.” Theoretically, anyway. He didn’t have a holy symbol yet and _technically_ he was only a cleric _initiate -_  but he’d practiced the invocation for healing hands and surely Viaeris, in his infinite mercy and love, would grant relief to one suffering little white-robe. 

Carrow carefully cupped the fingers of his left hand around the boy’s nose and lifted his other hand to the setting sun. “Viaeris, with your light and with the light of truth, I ask you grant me your healing hands to ease the earthly suffering of this soul.” 

Not the exact words, maybe, but the Brother who taught them said the intent mattered more anyway. And it worked; a rush of warmth swept through his chest and light gleamed softly in his cupped hand. He waited a few moments until the light had faded, then removed his hand to reveal a healthy, unbroken nose. The little boy’s eyes were wide as he probed the no-longer-painful are with his fingers, pressing here and there to test it. “Wooooow…”

The whispered word was enough to make Carrow laugh, and he started to speak about the love and light of Viaeris...when, further up the street, bells began tolling to signal vespers. Carrow’s mouth snapped shut as he leapt to his feet, paling to the color of distressed statuary. “I have to go, I’m late.”

He bolted, heedless of the plaintive requests for his name and thin calls of thanks that followed in his wake as he ran. The dean was known to levy serious punishments on those who dawdled in the city, and Carrow did not wish to make things worse than they already were.

He was indeed late for vespers, and ended up spending every spare moment for the next week scrubbing the rectory floors to the derision of some of the paladin-initiates who enjoyed making the work harder than necessary. Memory faded in the wake of such exhaustion, and Carrow forgot about the little boy in the too-long robe.


	2. Chapter 2

Carrow smiled and hummed to himself as he lit the candles on the streetside sanctuary, an altar to Viaeris enclosed in a fifteen foot circle of holy ground that allowed those too busy to get to the temple proper a place to rest and reflect upon Viaeris - and put their tithes into the discreet  collection dish should they so desire. The duty was regarded as something of a punishment by most, but Carrow rather enjoyed the days he was assigned to staff it. It was hot and dusty, true, but it was out in the light and he got to extend Viaeris’ light and love to so many who might not otherwise find it, and helping those who sought the peace of the sanctuary during the hustle and bustle of their day. 

Plus he had discovered that keeping a bucket of water in the shade of the altar to dip his stole in every now and again did wonders in keeping the heat and dust manageable.

A few merchants walked into the sanctified circle and made their obeisances to the altar; Carrow nodded to them affably and they returned the gesture but did not approach him so he let them be. They were frequent visitors on Carrow’s days at the shrine, though he’d seen them scuttle past when another priest had been there and had started after them, importuning them to come back and face the light and the altar. If they wanted to speak of Viaeris, they would come to him to do so.

A rider paused and asked for directions, dipping his head toward the candlelit altar but not taking the time to step down and make a full bow. Clearly in a hurry then, and Carrow gave him the directions he requested without more than a gentle mention of Viaeris. In return, the rider tossed a gold coin into the offering plate as he rode off and Carrow smiled to himself in satisfaction. This was why the deacon let Carrow conduct the outdoor sanctuary however he chose; the offerings plate was nearly always full by sunset and the deacon did not have to deal with quite so many complaint letters. The arrangement suited both of them, though the time was drawing close where Carrow might reasonably be put on the rotation of questing priests and would not be able to attend the altar as often.

A woman and twelve children - not all of them were her own - came into the circle and Carrow spent the next several hours working with them. First the woman wanted a full service for them all altogether, then she wanted each child led in prayer and sermonized as best Carrow could. By the time he was finished and the woman had taken the children away, his underrobe was gritty with sweat and dust and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Consoling himself that Viaeris would be pleased with the work he had done, he went to dunk his stole in his bucket.

When he emerged from behind the altar another figure knelt in front of the altar - one that wore a forest green robe and pointed hat. A wizard, which was unusual because wizards didn’t usually go out into the city unless it was en masse, and even more rarely did they visit a temple outside a questing situation. The only reason that he doubted the latter explanation was that the Wizardium refused to let anyone less than red-robe out on a quest; the survival rate before that point was abysmal and the Wizardium had nearly run out of recruits before the edict had gone into place. 

“Hail, friend. Viaeris welcomes you.”

The hat tilted up and suddenly Carrow understood a few things. The wizard underneath the hat looked like a raccoon, bruises ringing both eyes, a split lip, and a nose that still bled sluggishly. 

“I wad told yu did healigs?” The slitted eyes gleamed with hope even as Carrow paused to digest the question. The wizard wanted healing? “I was under the impression that wizards had their own healing spells,” he said carefully, leaving the end open for explanation but not interrogating the fellow. The wizard looked away and shrugged defensively, a tremor shaking him at the motion and Carrow is struck by the idea that there is probably even more bruising under the robe.

“I’b nog a good widard.” The confession is low, embarrassed, and he’s ducked his head so his face is hidden behind the brim of his hat. Carrow nods, leaving the answer as it is. It isn’t really his business, and the poor guy’s suffered enough as it is.

“By Viaeris’ grace I have, on occasion, been known to heal. It is by the Light of Viaeris, by his love and his mercy that many such wonders are made possible.” The wizard nods and reaches into his robe, pulling out a few coins and tossing them into the offerings plate. It wasn’t as much as Carrow normally charged for healings, but the wizard looked so pathetic he decided that for today it was enough. Reaching out, he put two fingers on the wizard’s forehead, in between the bruises as best he could, and heft his holy symbol with his other hand. 

“Blessed Viaeris, by Your Light and Your Truth I pray that you lend me your healing hands.” Light gathered on the medallion, pooling there like dew on a leaf before flowing through him and into the battered form under his fingers, eliciting a shuddery gasp from the green-robe at the sensation. The held that tableau for a long moment as Viaeris’ light restored painful injuries, then the light faded and Carrow removed his hand.

“There. How did that happen, anyway?” 

The wizard looked abashed, traces of blood clinging to his robes. “Oh, well, you know. Magical mishap.” 

“A magical mishap beat you blue and bloody?” Carrow asked, disbelief coloring his tone as his eyebrows rose.

“No, no, that was the Paladin-initiates. They didn’t exactly appreciate being soaked in milk.” The wizard was speaking to his shoes now, unwilling to look up.

“Milk?”

The green robe flapped his hands helplessly. “They may or may not have started speaking to someone to whom I was speaking first and I might have told them to leave and they may have said something like make them and I may or may not have tried to soak them in water but gotten milk instead and they probably didn’t appreciate that in the slightest, at length. It’s, it’s all hypothetical though.”

Carrow was torn between laughter and disbelief, though laughter won out in the end as he snorted. “Was she pretty?”

The question isn’t exactly the one he wanted to ask, but it’s the one that pops out and the wizard responded by flushing all the way down his neck and out to the tips of his ears, confirming Carrow’s suspicions. He shook his head, far more amused by the story than he should probably be. “Well, I hope it was worth it, friend. I’m Carrow, by the way.”

“Superfluous.” Superfluous held out his hand and Carrow blinked before accepting it and shaking firmly. That was a particularly cruel name to give to a wizard - everyone in the city knew how the Wizardium Masters renamed the initiates when they arrived at the Wizardium, the powerful words used to protect them against Name magics and because a large number of recruits came straight from the countryside and the Masters felt that a black robe named Thick Hickson detracted from the image of the Wizardium.

Superfluous had the right number of syllables and amount of pretentiousness, the meaning was deliberate and cruel. Superfluous seemed to realize what he’d said - and how much Carrow understood - because he was on his feet in a moment, backing away.

“So, yeah, thanks, you know, for the healing. I really appreciate it I’m awful at healing spells and I need to be heading back to the Wizardium there’ll be...things, yeah, things. That they need me to do so I’ll just...go.” He spoke fast, and scuttled off quickly. Carrow was left standing in the sanctuary looking after him in bemusement. He spent a long moment just standing there, mulling over what exactly had just happened, before an old widow stepped into the circle and greeted him.

Shaking himself out of his funk, he smiled at her and welcomed her into the light. He’d done all he could for Superfluous, and others now needed his aid.


	3. Chapter 3

Several years passed without real remark. Carrow had entered the rotation for questing and had gone on several - never for much more than a sixmonth - and had gained something of a reputation for being a good cleric to have on a quest. His companion always returned, usually intact, and he’d discovered a particular talent for turning/burning the undead. He still enjoyed running the streetside sanctuary whenever he was in town, and was now trusted to lead some of the lesser weekday services.

Superfluous had become something of a pen-pal, though his skills left something to be desired. He’d send notes, usually horrendously misspelled, about this or that at the Wizardium, and Carrow had been so confused when he’d received the first that it had taken him nearly a fortnight to decipher it. He’d responded courteously, and now received at least one of them a week - which piled up in his absences. He continued to send notes back - mostly anecdotes from the temple, sprinkled lightly with the teachings of Viaeris - and they continued their strange sort of acquaintanceship. 

This day was no different than many others, though Carrow had elected to hold an impromptu sermon before the altar and had garnered something of a crowd. Most of them seemed to be enjoying the speech, some parents going so far as to place their offspring on their shoulders so they could hear better. It was with some surprise, therefore, that he saw spring green - nearly yellow - robes and a familiar hat join the back of the crowd. He hadn’t seen Perf - as Superfluous insisted on being called - in some months, and he’d worn deeper green then.

Also, the wizard was currently sporting an impressive shiner and a split lip, so it was patently obvious what he was here for. Still, he didn’t interrupt the sermon and so Carrow continued speaking about Viaeris’ love and mercy, and the perils inherent in sin and the undead. The crowd seemed to particularly like the anecdotes of his travels, so he added one or two more on the fly.

It took another three quarters of an hour before he was finished, and another half-hour after that to speak individually to those who wished to know more about Viaeris’ light. Carrow did his best to answer every question about Viaeris to the best of his ability, and gently deflected those questions he deemed impertinent. The collection plate had a goodly amount in it by the time Perf approached him, and a number of smaller groups had sprung up to discuss Viaeris and the words Carrow had spoken.

“First off, let me just say  _ wow _ . You’re really, really good at that. Speaking, I mean. In front of people. Like, when you talked about Viaeris’ light I could really feel your belief in the words, y’know?” Perf spoke earnestly, using his hands as much as his speech to convey his meaning and Carrow had to smile.

“As flattering as that is, I suspect you didn’t come just to hear my sermon.” Carrow nodded towards Perf’s face and the other flushed dully.

“Yeah. Yeah, could you, uh,” Perf gestured helplessly at his battered face and Carrow scrunched his nose in a smiled agreement. The laying of hands was as familiar to him now as the morning prayers, and an easy sort of warmth flowed through him as soon as he touched his symbol. 

“Blessed Viaeris, lend me thy healing hands.”

Light flashed and Perf blinked watery eyes as Carrow pulled his hand away. “What happened this time?” Carrow hadn’t expected to get such a reaction from Perf; he’d just figured the wizard had gotten his lights punched out again for defending someone’s honor that he had no business to. What he got was the green robe turning an interesting shade of puce and refusing to meet his eyes. Clearly not another encounter with paladins, then. 

“Perf?” he queried, smile slipping. The wizard’s eyes were now firmly fixed on his shoes and he mumbled something below Carrow’s hearing. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said,” Perf mumbled, a little louder, “that I tried to heal myself. I started out with just the split lip, and…” he trailed off, looking like he wished the ground would open up and swallow him, and Carrow understood perfectly. A large number of Perf’s notes had been about one mishap after another, and the punishments he’d received for failing; it was something of a sore subject.

Carrow patted him on the shoulder. “Have some faith, my friend. Persistence is sometimes its own reward, and patience is one of the Great Virtues. You’ll find your own way someday, and then you’ll be a great wizard in your own right.” Perf brightened and nodded, bouncing back from perceived failure with that familiar alacrity.

Carrow patted him on the shoulder again and nodded toward the altar. The green robe looked ready to object until a querulous finger inserted itself between two of his ribs. “You get over there and thank Viaeris, boy, or that black eye will make a reappearance and make no mistake!”

The wizened face of Mrs. Pastry glared up at Perf as if daring him to see what he had in the handbag that clanked ominously at her side. Perf, wisely, remained silent except for an odd gulping noise and hurried off toward the altar.

Carrow laughed and shook his head at the old woman’s antics. “Wizards are rarely devote, Mrs. Pastry. Have patience with his failings as Viaeris has patience with us all.”

She snorted but let the subject go and instead fastened one withered hand around his elbow and starting in on a story of how the temple was in the Good Old Days, about Deacon Rime (dead now a decade) and by the time she had released Carrow Perf had long vanished with the rest of the crowd and most of the afternoon. Carrow shrugged to himself and went to light more candles; it wouldn’t do to let Viaeris’ altar grow too dimly shadowed.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late at night - so late it might even be called early the next morning - and the only reason Carrow was still awake was that the Archdeacon had asked him to prepare selections from the  _ Precepts of Saint Emeria  _ for the next day’s sermon and it had taken Carrow and three under-librarians until the fourth hour after the dinner bell just to find the ancient text. In the end, it had turned up under the corner of a wobbly bookshelf and they’d ended up replacing it with a tattered edition of  _ Of The Common Word _ .

Now that he had the book, he had to bring portions of it into modern parlance for the Archdeacon to reference during the Highday sermon. The Archdeacon liked to use obscure reference material during his sermons; he claimed it was to bring works that might otherwise be lost to shadows back into the light. Most of the under-librarians and lower order clerics held that it was because he was a pompous windbag with pretensions to actual scholarship, a feeling born late-night library scours for last-minute requests so far out of circulation that finding them propping up crooked shelving wasn’t actually that unusual.

Carrow did not think it politic to have an opinion one way or the other and simply sacrificed whole nights of sleep whenever the thankless task fell to him. Such as now.

He was working his way through the fifth chapter as muffled bells chimed the hour. The book only had seven chapters, thankfully, and while the Archdeacon had only required three selections he’d been Disappointed with the last unfortunate who’d only worked through the first part of the text he’d been assigned and Carrow mentally winced as he remembered what exactly had happened to the poor sod. Better to be thorough than  _ that _ .

His concentration on the text in front of him shattered when the library door slammed open. Only just saving his ink from spilling, he looked up with a frown to upbraid whoever had just grossly violated the noise rules both for the library and the quiet hours, he was surprised to find Perf, of all people, rushing through the library tables toward him. The initiate pursuing the yellow robe, likely having accidentally opened the door too far so that Perf had slipped through, made the scene much more believable, though that still begged the question of why.

Carrow stood up from the desk he’d been working at, lamplight shining up in his face and dazzling him briefly. “Superfluous? What in Viaeris’ name are you doing here?” The use of his full name gave the wizard a pause, which gave the initiate time to latch onto his arm. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - the initiate was one of the younger ones so this move didn’t actually result in much.

“I tried to stop him, Brother Carrow, but he insisted on coming to speak to you!” The boy’s voice was clear and reproachful, eyes determined as he clung to Perf’s sleeve. It was only then that Carrow realized the initiate’s - Tantivus, that was the boy’s name - hair and shirt were soaked and dripping and he narrowed his eyes at Perf. 

“Did you douse Tantivus just to get in here?” Carrow’s tone was hard; conjuring milk on paladins who could defend themselves was one thing, doing so to a boy of seven who was training to take his place among Viaeris’ faithful was quite another - especially at this advanced hour. Perf had the grace to look ashamed and he ducked his head against Carrow’s disapproving glare.

“Look, I’m sorry about the milk, but this is important! Carrow, I really really have to talk to you.” Perf spoke rapidly, eyes gleaming with desperation. Carrow’s frown lightened somewhat, but didn’t go away entirely even as he settled himself back down at the desk he’d been working on with a sigh. He had no idea what Perf would consider so important as to barge his way into the temple for, but he owed it to the wizard to hear him out.

He nodded to the miserable initiate. “Tantivus, go and clean yourself up  - put on something warm and dry. And stop by the kitchens for something hot before you go back to your post; tell them I sent you and that they should do so on my authority.” The boy straightened and nodded, failing to hide a wide yawn as he turned to leave. Once the door had close, Carrow motioned for Perf to take a seat in a chair on the other side of the table. The yellow robe did so, then elected to fidget with his sleeves until Carro finally lost patience. “Well, you said you wanted to talk.” His exhaustion coupled with Perf’s treatment of poor Tantivus, makes him cross and the other man flinches at his sharp tone.

“Yeah. Yeah. So, I um, might be inovermyhead.” The words came out in a rush and Carrow blinked, trying to bludgeon the sentence into comprehensibility. “Say that again, slower, and elaborate.”

Perf took a deep breath and stood up, starting to pace. “Okay, I’m pretty sure I’m in over my head. I was at a bar earlier, talking to this elf about money or something and,” Here he paused both in speech and in his pacing, turning to face the cleric. “Carrow, i think I volunteered to go on a quest to find the Sword of Fighting.”

Carrow was silent for a long moment, fingers steepled in front of his face. “Let me see if I have this straight. You, a yellow-robed wizard who only meets the requirements for questing due to age rather than advancement, agreed to go on a quest with an elf you barely and met only this evening to find a magical artifact that, if it exists - which it probably doesn’t - would draw the wrath of the Wicked Kings - who rule nearly every city on this continent and maybe some on the others as well, mind you - down on whomever found it. Does this seem to be an accurate summary?”

Somewhat surprisingly, Perf shook his head - albeit with a wretched look on his face. “Not exactly. The elf said she was hired by the Wicked Kings to find and destroy the sword, so we wouldn’t be crossing them. Also, she’s already got a fighter lined up who’s willing to go.” Ah, that was it. The elf was female, and Perf had fallen head over heels and probably shot his mouth off. He’d done it before, with a seamstress in Linen Lane and, before her, a drover’s daughter who lived in the Butchery. He’d told Carrow about them in his numerous notes over the years, and the lengths he gone to to attempt to secure their affections. Honestly, Carrow was probably lucky he hadn’t gotten dragged in before now.

He sighed and massaged his forehead. “And you told her you could get a cleric. That you had a friend in the temple you could get to go with you.” Perf looked miserable at the tired disappointment in Carrow’s voice. “No. No, I swear, I wasn’t even thinking of asking you until I was on my way back to my rooms to pack and like, I realized what I’d got myself into. Carrow, please, I’m asking you to come because I’m pretty sure i won’t make it back otherwise.” 

Carrow looked up in mild surprise, and saw the real terror on Perf’s face. Perf, who could cast three spells reliably. Perf, who had repeatedly detonated what should be harmless spells. Perf, who had real difficulties reading and writing but insisted on corresponding anyway. Perf, who absolutely could not resist a pretty face.

Carrow looked down at the Precepts of Saint Emeria, to the passage he had left it open to.  _ “Inne thys, as inne alle thyngs, Viaeris commands thatte we cleave firste to these thyngs thatte He commands, then nexte to those thyngs which he ask of Us, thatte we Do alle in Our Power to help those whom aske itte of Us.”  _ He closed his eyes, meditating briefly, then looked back up at Perf’s pleading expression. He sighed. “When did you agree to meet up?”

“We’re supposed to meet the first bell after sunrise at the Eastern Gate to the city.” Perf smiled as he spoke, relief washing across his face like a tsunami. It was a remarkable contrast to the pinched, fearful expression he’d worn up until that point, and Carrow shook his head at that kind of boundless optimism that said everything was going to be alright with Carrow along. Still, he copied down the directions onto a clean scrap of parchment and stood while shutting the  _ Precepts _ . 

“I’ll show you out, then meet up with you and the rest of party there. You haven’t given me very much time, and there are things I need to do here before I can leave. Responsibilities, Perf.” Perf just nodded happily and headed back to the door, not really paying much attention now that Carrow had agreed to go. Carrow sighed and trailed after him; Perf really needed to curb his enthusiasm one of these days or he’d get in over his head.

Just as they reached the heavy portal, it slammed open again...right into Perf. The wizard staggered back, blood gushing from his nose and Carrow pinched the bridge of his as Paladin-Brother Doorkeeper, probably roused by Tantivus, stormed into the library with a righteous scowl on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded in a tone of voice better suited to a battlefield than a library. Carrow took a brief moment to reflect that he’d never met a paladin who could grasp the concept of “inside voices” and whether it was a requirement for initiation or a result of the lifestyle. It was only a brief moment’s fancy, however, and there were rather more pressing matters to attend to.

He stepped in front of Perf, who was fruitlessly trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose with his sleeve, and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Paladin-Brother, I will be more than happy to answer all your questions. Just let me heal Superfluous here and send him on his way and I will be right with you.” Doorkeeper looked suspicious, but nodded. Nobody was ever turned away from the temple if they came for healing, but neither were they allowed to linger if the hour was irregular.

Carrow hastily grabbed his symbol and Perf’s nose - eliciting a squawk of pain and protest that he ignored -  and recited a quick prayer for healing. A flash and a pop - the hose had been broken, then, which made Carrow feel a bit guilty for grabbing it like that but he’d make amends later - and Doorkeeper was reaching for Perf’s arm.

“Out with you then, you’ve gotten your healing. Brother Carrow, I will be back for those explanations as soon I have shown this man the door.” With that pronouncement, Doorkeeper turned and frog-marched Perf out of the library. Carrow let the door swing shut with a sigh - he seemed to sigh a lot, where Perf was concerned - before turning and heading back to the desk he’d been working at. Sitting, he pulled a few clean sheets of parchment over and contemplated briefly before beginning to write. Might as well get started on the necessary notes for his departure while he waited for Paladin-Brother Doorkeeper’s return.


	5. Chapter 5

Carrow sang softly as he held his medallion for morning worship. He made it his habit to do at least two stanzas from the Canticles of Morning when he was out on a quest, the worship of the light that heralded a new day done as the sun peeked above the horizon at dawn. Sometimes - not often - he’d have time to do more, if his companions did not wish to move out first thing in the morning - but that happened rarely. 

This morning was no exception; Glorion had stated that they would get underway as soon as he’d had a wash and neither he nor Nara had argued - it was rarely worth the effort anyway, and on the elf’s part she was particularly keen on their quest. Perf hadn’t been awake at the time and Carrow was inclined to let him sleep. Perf had been suffering more under Glorion’s direction than either he or Nara had, and had taken to running away from the fighter at every opportunity. He’d be more concerned about the behavior if Perf ever did so with more than the clothes on his back, but the one time the wizard would have gotten away clean he’d come slinking back after sunset claiming to have seen undead nearby.

Carrow had seen the glances Perf snuck at Nara as he elaborated on his supposed encounter, and had kept quiet about the wild inaccuracies in the tale. He had more experience with the undead than the entire rest of the party combined, and they behaved nothing like what Perf described. 

Carrow knew exactly what to make of Perf’s behavior and so let him run with minimal objections, and healed whatever injuries Glorion chose in inflict in retaliation. Honestly, it was Glorion that worried Carrow more - with his blindly blithe indifference to the suffering of others and the active joy he took from being the one causing it, he would have set Paladins on the fighter if said fighter wasn’t also as thick as a stone slab. 

Time would tell if Glorion was actually evil, or merely stupid.

A rustle nearby informed him that their napping wizard had woken, and he carried on serenely with the Canticle. He watched from the corner of his eye as Perf stood and took in the distinct lack of Glorion in the environs.

“Is he gone?” Perf hissed, and Carrow paused in his prayer long enough to shake his head. “Bad idea,” he warned, knowing it fell on deaf ears but having to try anyway.

Perf took a deep breath like he was going to retort….and took off in a dead run. Carrow slumped out of his meditative pose with a huff of air, resigning himself to finishing the Canticle later.

Standing, he hung his medallion with its symbol of Viaeris back around his neck and looked over at Nara. “Well, let’s go save our wizard.” Nara was too much the dignified elf to sigh, but the stiff gesture she used to roll up the map she’d been studying was more than eloquent in conveying her irritation at yet another delay.

They packed up the sleeping gear and went off in the direction Perf had gone. Glorion’s crashing pursuit was easy enough to follow; the yellow-robe had run right past the brawler and Glorion had immediately begun pursuit. The pair could be heard long after they had disappeared from sight. 

Carrow hummed his way through the rest of the Canticles as he walked, with another hymn or two for good measure. Nara herself was quiet, though whether that stemmed from her irritation at the situation or a simple lack of anything to say, Carrow didn’t know.

They broke from the trees to find Glorion dispensing some “encouragement” while Perf squalled his protests. Glorion’s form of encouragement consisted largely of hitting people (mostly Perf) in the face, and was another mark in favor of Glorion’s actually being evil rather than stupid in Carrow’s mind.

It took two forceful prods from Nara’s bow to get Glorion’s attention. “He’s had enough, let him up! He’s learned his lesson.” Even as he spoke, Carrow knew the words to be untrue. Given Perf’s past behavior, he’d definitely attempt to run again - if they weren’t so far into the Wild Lands, Carrow might actually have gone with and made sure they got away safely, but as it stood going off was tantamount to suicide.

Still, Glorion wasn’t the sharpest knife in the kitchen and stood to let the bleeding wizard up. Carrow managed to insinuate himself between fighter and fool and distract Glorion, hopefully letting Perf compose himself somewhat. 

Nara’s shout cut through the general hubbub like a razor. “Look! There it is!”

“The Temple of All Dooms,” Perf said, awe and hope evident in equal parts in his words.

It took them some time to actually reach the place, perched atop a cliff as it was, and it was early afternoon by the time they reached the forbidding stone walls. Glorion, being Glorion, immediately started trying to shove his way through the nearest wall until Nara hit him again and told him to knock it off. Carrow took a few steps back and looked at the Temple, then back at his companions. “How about if Nara goes and checks the other sides of this thing while we wait here? She’s got the best shot of noticing the entrance - or at least a clue to the entrance - and she can move faster if she doesn’t have to wait on the rest of us.” 

Perf looked like he wanted to object, but Glorion was enthusiastic and Nara was already moving. By the time the fighter had finished booming about how great his idea was (it was a good idea, therefore naturally Glorion had thought of it first, according to Glorion) Nara was already out of sight around the Temple and Perf slumped forlornly. Carrow walked over and patted him on the shoulder in consolation before gesturing at his face.

“Why don’t I take a look at that? It’s still bleeding,” Carrow noted with some concern. Perf dabbed at his face with his sleeve, chagrined, and nodded. Carrow steepled his fingers carefully around the bloody mess and pulled his symbol off with the other, holding it up to the sun. “Light of Viaeris, light of Truth, lend me thy healing hands.” Light flashed under his cupped fingers and when he let go Perf’s nose had resumed its usual color and the bleeding had stopped. “Good?” he asked, keeping his symbol in hand just in case, until Perf nodded. “Good,” said Carrow firmly, putting his symbol back around his neck in its usual place. 

“Ah, yeah. Yeah, that was a bad idea,” Perf said as he probed the area around his nose gently, and Carrow had to laugh. That was Perf for you - he acknowledged his mistakes but so rarely learned from them.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Oh Gods. Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgodsohgods CARROW. _

Perf was this close to hyperventilating. He’d just talked himself into heading back when Carrow - Carrow! - had come whipping around the bend in the trail. At first he hadn’t been able to understand what Carrow had been doing; it was usually Glorion chasing him. Carrow would just wait until he got dragged back and laughed at him, healed him with a smile that didn’t conceal the worry in his eyes.

Then Carrow had shushed him and hissed a word that made his blood freeze: “Orcsign!” Orcs in the area, and Glorion off trying to stab a river with his sword. “Where?” he hissed back, looking wildly over Carrow’s shoulder as if he could spot them that way. The universe had answered him with cruellest irony; the twang of bows filled the air and for one wild second Perf thought Nara had somehow found the Orcs and was now engaging them-

Carrow had stiffened and shuddered, before falling with a terrible, limp finality to the ground, three red-fletched arrows in his chest. He’d fallen -  _ Carrow _ had fallen - and all Perf could think to say was “Oh. Wait, I see them.” He stared stupidly at Carrow. Carrow was smart, Carrow had faith in spades, Carrow was a good and patient man who knew what to say and when to say it - and he’d gotten killed because he’d come to help him, Perf. Because he’d run off again, in the wild, far from his party  _ oh gods _ …

Then Nara appeared and yanked him behind a nearby tree even as another volley of arrows twanged past. Perf took a shuddery breath even as she leaned around the trunk to assess the situation. “How’s Carrow?” she demanded without glancing away from whatever she was looking at. “I think he’s dead,” Perf reported, by some small miracle keeping his voice level and uncracked. “Can you help him?” Nara finally deigned to look at him as she spoke and Perf had to glance away, unable to meet her eyes. “Probably not. I’m not a very good wizard,” and didn’t that gall him. 

Perf thought back to the last time he’d tried to cast a minor healing spell and winced. He’d been drinking and someone had jostled him at just the wrong moment and he’d split his lip on the brim of his cup. Drink making him braver than he’d perhaps otherwise be, he’d tried to cast cure light wounds on himself from his spellbook and ended up blacking his own eye. 

_ Carrow had healed him then, with a smile and his faith oh gods Carrow- _

“Evard nobo Orc-shagutz!”

The shout surprised him out of his spiral and he glanced over at Nara with eyes wide in disbelief. “I think they’re looking for Glorion,” he said, which sounded stupid even to his own ears. Glorion would literally slaughter them with a smile and a booming laugh.

One of the the other orcs, apparently impatient with even the slightest delay, shouted at them. “Lektari quaz Orc-shagutz ah!” Perf blinked and parsed it mentally, then did it again to be sure he’d heard it right. Really? Using the incorrect case of “to be” in a simple sentence? 

The simple error gave him something to focus on besides the horrible mixture of panic and guilt flailing in his gut and he grabbed it (metaphorically) with both hands. “Subjaz quaz Orc-shagutz ahka!” he called back, his pronunciation as clear as if he was back in the languages room at the Wizardium. “Orc-shagutz ‘ah’ dob nok shutz, whardo!” was the orc’s response after a brief pause and he couldn’t just let that go. “Gor! Orc-shagutz ahka,  _ ahka _ . Zsa gza prukar ‘ah’ bazeeda mutz predkak!” There was some muttering and snickering coming from the orcs’ position - at least five of them, maybe more, he couldn’t tell - until the impatient one cut them off with a yell. “Slard! Yesh, lektari quaz Orc-shagutz ahka!” 

This last was definitely addressed to them, and Perf leaned around and answered in the simplest terms he could. “Ta qua gerutz.” Stunned silence greeted this announcement. Apparently these were not the brightest orcs in world - but then, they were looking to fight Glorion, and that required a special class of stupid. 

“Hadge hooman! Var du kaldusha!” Apparently, they didn’t believe him. “Nod kozod du pele gekkay!” was all he could think of to say to the orc, and apparently it was the wrong thing as they fired another volley of arrows that thunked into the tree behind which they were sheltering. The twang-swish-thump was enough to bring the situation back to the forefront of his mind, and any humor he might have found in yelling at the orc vanished like a snuffed candle.

“Go get Carrow,” Nara’s voice was authoritative, and Perf took a half-step toward the arrow-riddled corpse before reason (and cowardice) reasserted themselves. “You want me? To go over there?? You are seriously overestimating my courage.” Not only were the orcs still shooting at them, but the thought of going over there and confirming beyond all hope or doubt that Carrow was really dead make Perf quail. “Go! I’ll cover you!”

Nara didn’t seem to understand, but then she didn’t seem to understand a lot of things Perf wished she would. “I’m gonna die,” was his repeated objection even as she shoved him toward Carrow and leaned around the tree to return fire at the orcs. He stumbled over to Carrow’s body and grabbed it by the ankles. They were limp in his grip, and the body offered no resistance to being dragged back into the cover of the tree.

“How is he?” Nara demanded between shots, as if Carrow would magically get better after three arrows to the chest. “Still dead,” he said numbly. She pulled back as arrows whizzed by the tree and glared at him. “Do something!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Like what?” 

She leaned around the tree and picked off one of the archers before answering. “Something! Something useful.  _ Heal him! _ ” she said in exasperation and Perf started. “Oh right, Heal. That is a spell.” He’d left in his book to try and memorize it later, but he’d never expected to actually use it; Carrow was a better, more reliable healer. He fumbled his book out of his sleeve and flipped to the right page. He blinked and forced himself to concentrate, trying to hold as many runes as he could in his mind before he even started. With a quick prayer to a deity he didn’t believe in (but one that Carrow did), he started the incantation.

Light gathered in his outstretched hand and played over Carrow’s body. Perf felt hope rise in his chest that maybe, just this once, he’d get it right…

One rune twisted. He blinked, and it was the right way ‘round, but the next two had flipped. “No. No, no no no!” Carrow’s body was twitching and jerking under the twisting lightning of the changed spell, as awful in animation as it had been in stillness. Lines of decay followed the forking ends of the spell, marring and twisting what before had been healthy flesh. 

Perf felt the bottom falling out of his world as the spell ended. Not only had he gotten Carrow killed, now he’d desecrated the body.

_ Oh gods, oh  _ **_Carrow_ ** _ , what had he done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: all orcish in this chapter was lifted directly from the episode and was done by ear, so all spellings are phonetic.
> 
> Evard nobo Orc-shagutz! - Where is the Orc-slayer  
> Lektari quaz Orc-shagutz ah! - Tell us where the orcslayer be  
> Subjaz quaz Orc-shagutz ahka! - I think you mean tell us where the Orcslayer is  
> Orc-shagutz ‘ah’ dob nok shutz, whardo - Orcslayer be is fine, pink-skin  
> Gor! Orc-shagutz ahka, ahka. Zsa gza prukar ‘ah’ bazeeda mutz predkak - no, it iterates to this form when you're using it in this case!  
> Slard! Yesh, lektari quaz Orc-shagutz ahka! - Shut up! Fine, tell us where the Orcslayer is  
> Ta qua gerutz - he's killing the river  
> Hadge hooman! Var du kaldusha! - Hey human, go fuck yourself  
> Nod kozod du pele gekkay! - That's anatomically impossible


End file.
